Meredith and Quinn were in the upstairs bedroom when they heard a car approaching. Meredith darted for the window.
She reached it and parted the shade, expecting to see her companions. What she saw made her blood freeze. There was a car in the distance, but it was coming from the opposite direction from where Dan or Tim had gone.
It wasn’t them.
The vehicle, a small black sedan, was approaching fast. There were two occupants, but neither fit the profile of the men she knew. What if they slowed down? What if they stopped?
“It’s not Dan and Tim!” she hissed. “They’re coming from the wrong way.”
She glanced back at Quinn. The little girl’s eyes were wide, her face ashen. Meredith surveyed the room. On the same wall as the door was a bureau. She considered pushing it in front of the door. But if she were to do that, they’d be trapped. She envisioned the barricades at each of the entrances. Even if they wanted to flee, she’d have to remove them, and without making noise.
“Hold tight,” she whispered, as much to herself as to Quinn.
Hopefully the car would pass them by.
She stared back out the window, her pulse soaring. Just a minute ago, Meredith had been prepared to reunite with her companions and head to Abbotsville. And now she was being forced to hunker and hide.
The car was about a hundred yards up the road. The vehicle slowed, and her heart jumped. She crouched so she was just at eye-level, the shade barely parted.
The car weaved to the left shoulder, driving in the wrong lane. The occupants turned their heads as they surveyed the house. The driver adjusted in his seat, and she caught the glint of a gun in his lap. He rolled down the window and jabbed his finger outside.
Keep going. Keep going.
The car rolled a few feet farther.
The car stopped.
Meredith’s heart knocked in violent rhythm. Ernie sat up on the bed, his ears perked. The sedan purred as the driver idled the engine. The driver’s door opened. A man’s leg swung onto the pavement.
Dirt-covered jeans. Black boots.
Meredith watched with growing dread as the man came into view. The man was dark-skinned, with a black T-shirt and the beginnings of a beard. He was wearing a baseball cap. In his hands was a rifle. He spit on the pavement and advanced toward the house, studying the interior. He furrowed his brow.
Meredith released the shade and ducked. After a few seconds of quiet, she risked another glance. She saw the passenger rummaging through the glove box. After a minute, he emerged and joined his friend. The passenger was a heavyset man in his fifties with shaggy gray hair and a white shirt. He was holding a pistol. The voices of the men echoed off the front of the house. Without the hum of appliances, the property was silent, catching every sound.
“It looks like the place is empty,” the second man said. His voice was low, with a southern drawl. “I don’t see any cars.”
That’s right, Meredith thought. Keep moving.
“No blood and no bodies in the yard.” The fat man shrugged. “That’s a first.”
“Wouldn’t you rather find someone alive? I’m getting bored. I could use a little fun.” The other man laughed.
“Dead or alive, I don’t really give a shit. As long as there are supplies.”
To her dismay, they started toward the house.
The man in the black T-shirt stared at the windows. Meredith slipped out of sight, letting the shade flatten. She held her breath, as if the extra precaution might affect their decision, as if she could ward off danger. She glanced at Quinn, who was clutching her chest in fear.
“That last house was empty. Do you think we should bother?” the first man said.
“Might as well check it out.”
The words were like a switch, turning Meredith’s anxiety to panic. She swallowed the acidic taste in her mouth. They needed to run out the back door.
If the men searched the house, there was a good chance they’d be discovered. If they could make it outside, maybe they could hide in the grass.
“Quinn,” she hissed. “Let’s go.”
She motioned for Quinn to follow her. Ernie jumped off the bed and ran over, his tail pumping. She grabbed hold of him, hoping to keep him quiet. If he barked…if he made noise…
She snuck into the hallway, carrying Ernie, Quinn in tow.
They crept down the stairs, trying not to make a sound. Boots creaked the front porch. One of the men coughed. She heard them trying the door.
“Locked,” the driver said.
“I’ll shoot it open,” said the other.
“Really? Why not just kick it down? Come on, man. Save bullets.”
“All right, all right…”
She heard one of the men back up, then the sound of boots stamping across the porch. The ensuing bang made Meredith’s heart skip. Wood splintered and caved. Meredith and Quinn had made it down the stairs, headed for the back door. She hugged Ernie tight, praying he didn’t bark. The footsteps retreated, probably preparing for another kick.
When they reached the living room, she crept over to Quinn, her heart pounding furiously. “Help me move the barricade,” she whispered.
The little girl nodded.
Meredith set down the rifle, but kept hold of Ernie. She lifted the table with one hand, Quinn assisting her. The small kitchen table was light enough to move without noise. They started clearing the chairs.
Another boot kicked the front door. The man swore from the other side. Meredith worked faster, her pulse racing. The men kicked again. The door was about to give way. There was no time…
Meredith glanced at the windows in the kitchen, but they were blocked, the shades drawn. There’d be no getting through them, not without making noise. The men kicked the door again.
“Back upstairs!” Meredith whispered.
If they couldn’t get out, they’d have to hide. She tugged Quinn’s hand and they darted back up the staircase. They’d just made it to the bedroom when the front door gave way. She heard the wood splinter, then the sound of the men kicking away the pieces. The couch slid across the hardwood. Meredith motioned for the closet. She slid the door open, praying the tracks didn’t squeak. They didn’t. Meredith ducked inside with Ernie, shushing him. Then she closed the door, pitching them into darkness.
The men were in the house. She heard them climbing over the couch, scuffing the floor with their boots.
“Anyone home?” One of the men snickered.
“It looks like someone was here recently.”
“I’ll check upstairs. You check down here.”
Footsteps creaked the floor, then the stairs; a procession that could only end in death. Meredith clung to Ernie and Quinn, praying silently, aiming the rifle at the closet door. As soon as it opened, she’d fire. The stairs groaned under the weight of a man’s feet, getting closer. The man had reached the bedroom. She heard the hiss of his breath, the subtle creak of the floorboards adjusting. Just a few steps and he’d find them. Just a few steps and…
A car engine sounded in the distance.
“You hear that, Marty?” the man in the room asked.
Meredith froze. The footsteps retreated, making their way back down the stairs and outside. She sucked in a breath, surprised she could still breathe at all, and rolled open the closet door. She hissed for Quinn to stay put, and then crept over to the window and glanced outside. Another car was on the horizon.
Was it Dan and Tim?
This one was coming from the right direction. The men ran out into the street and raised their rifles, aiming at the approaching vehicle.